


Parentheses

by QuarterClever



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, although the opposite doesn't always hold true, but let's face it this is supernatural, the actual prompt was for comfort, you ain't getting comfort without hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuarterClever/pseuds/QuarterClever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, the routine of not acknowledging things has become so familiar it’s almost a(n unspoken) joke: If a tree falls in a forest and there’s only the Winchester brothers there to hear it, did it make a sound?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parentheses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/8732.html?thread=250396#cmt250396) at SRS 2012 Bonus Round 4:
> 
> They both have nightmares, words they cannot say, feelings they cannot share, but in the dark sometimes all they need is a touch to remind them that despite everything, they are not alone.

They’ve never talked about it, but they both always knew that the rules were different between when the lights went out and the sun went up. It meant the “no chick flicks” rule didn’t hold, at least not so long as the chick flicks were silent films.

It was an old story, one they’d been telling again and again without words since they were children. Tears were never shed so long as they remained unrecognized; hugs were never given so long as they were never mentioned? 

At this point, the routine of not acknowledging things has become so familiar it’s almost a(n unspoken) joke: If a tree falls in a forest and there’s only the Winchester brothers there to hear it, did it make a sound?

They don’t talk about it, but they both know it started for real that Christmas, the one where Sam made Dean admit that even if the monsters under _his_ bed weren’t real, they were real enough to lay down lines of salt and keep a gun under the pillow.

Sam doesn’t just learn the truth that night, he learns that talking about things just makes them worse. It’s a lesson he fights against his entire life, because talking is supposed to make things _better_ , not worse. That’s how it worked on _The Brady Bunch_ and _The Cosby Show_ and _Full House_ and all those other shows that he only ever watched when he was sure Dean wouldn’t catch him at it. (Dean knows, of course, probably even knows why, but that’s just another one of those things they don’t talk about except for Dean’s jokes about Princess Samantha).

He’s not stupid. He didn’t go and find his dad’s journal and Dean’s gun that night when Dean stormed out of the motel room; he’d known about them for a while.  But before Dean put words to it, it was easy to pretend that it wasn’t true. But as soon as Dean started talking that all came crashing down.

That’s the first night. Dean doesn’t say anything, but after Sam’s shoulders have stopped shaking, after they can both pretend Sam is asleep, Dean slips into bed with him. It’s Dean’s arm around his shoulder that finally lets him fall asleep. Dad’s gone, might never be coming back again no matter _what_ Dean says, but Dean’s here. Sam can hear him, _feel him_ breathing, can feel the weight of Dean’s arms. Maybe it’s not the same as talking, like the families on TV, but given how that turned out maybe this is better.

As they get older, it changes a bit. It has nothing to do with them finding it suddenly finding it weird to sleep in the same bed (they’ve lived out of motel rooms and in a car their entire lives, after all, not to mention the fact that they wouldn’t talk about it anyway) and everything to do with the fact that Sam’s gotten so big he doesn’t really fit on any of the tiny beds (what most motels they stay in call queen is really more of a princess, and Dean doesn’t care if that’s not a thing he thinks it’s hilarious anyway and makes the joke every. single. time.) by himself, let alone with Dean’s sharp elbows jostling him for every inch of space.

When things are really bad (the things they don’t even think about, much less talk about) they manage it anyway, waking up in a tangle with bruised shins but with the knowledge that no matter how pissed off at each other they are they’re still together. That even if their silence has more to do with fury over demon blood or purgatory vampires than just Winchester recalcitrance they’re not alone. Most of the time, though, the feeling of having someone else there isn’t worth the muscle aches, even if it’s the most restful sleep either of them ever have. That’s only for when it’s bad.

For all the other nights, when the darkness closes in and the world zooms out and all that’s left is them and their beds and they’re drowning, there’s not much else for them to do. Maybe they could whisper back and forth until they both drop off from exhaustion, just so they know the other’s still there, but then they might as well be girls at a sleepover and Sam’s hair might be long enough to braid but there is no way in hell they’re gossiping (and it’s not like they know much of anyone left alive to gossip about).

So really there’s nothing left to do but reach out into that infinite darkness, even knowing that they’re all alone (they know it during the day, too, know it even when they’re sitting in a diner and arguing over whether it’s your run-of-the-mill demon or something they can figure out how to gank but not how to pronounce). They reach out, eyes squeezed tight (even though they know, better than anyone, how _stupid_ it is to think if you can’t see the monsters the monsters can’t see you). They reach out for each other, the same way they’ve been doing their entire lives (half the time left grasping and half the time clasping each other far too tight).

They reach out into that black hole that is the two feet in between their beds and hold tight to each other’s hands, because if they let go they’ll never find each other again.

They never let go, not until they’re both awake in the morning (and of course neither says anything but Sam sees Dean’s smirk that time there’s nothing else on the motel TV but Titanic). It makes them Samanddean again instead of just Sam and Dean. It’s not enough to keep their demons (both literal and metaphorical, and Sam still makes that joke even if Dean hasn’t laughed a single time) at bay and it’s not enough to make everything okay (as if anything could), but it’s enough to make them not alone anymore.

They’ve never talked about it, but they both always knew that even if they broke the rules they wouldn’t have the words to say all that it meant anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> ngl the title is basically because I used a lot of parentheses in this, but let's pretend it has a deeper meaning, k?


End file.
